Ad Quoro Casum Ericiim
by Once and Future Dragon
Summary: Everybody knows that everybody dies. And everyone knows of the Riechenbach Fall, the day that Britain's greatest detective was lost to the world. But what if the tragic hero, the martyr for justice, was not Sherlock Holmes? What if, it was he who had to grieve over the loss of his best friend? What if, Doctor Watson was the one to take the plunge?
1. Prolouge

**A/N: This is my first fanfic. So if you could please review or give me pointers, I would owe you a viral cookie.**

**Disclaimer: In case there is any confusion, I don't own _Sherlock_. I'm pretty sure the term _fan_fiction is self-****explanatory**

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The rain pounded mercilessly on the roof of Mycroft's flat. The two brothers sat across from each other in complete silance other than the crackling of the fire. Finally Mycroft spoke up, "Sherlock- " he started but was cut off by a clap of thunder, "Its been nearly two months."

"He's not dead." Sherlock snapped at his older brother. He didn't know why he had come here in the first place. It wasn't like Mycroft knew anything.

"The officials say there is no way he could have survived. Your going to have to accept that." Mycroft said impatiently.

"Well than they are wrong!" Sherlock practically spat. He refused to believe that his only friend- he stopped his thoughts from going any further. No need to dwell on it.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said clearly annoyed. They had had this conversation many times over the past month and a half. "You need to accept it. There is no way he could have survived."

After a long silence, Sherlock finally answered.

"I know John's alive. I just haven't figured out how he managed it." He said quietly. Mycroft sighed.

"Do take care dear brother." Mycroft said as Sherlock stood up to leave.

Sherlock said nothing and was out the door with a swish of his coat.

Mycroft sighed again. He had hoped his brother would get better with time, but two months later,he still held out hope. Then again, he had never known his brother to simply jump (ooh, bad idiom) to conclusions. Even stricken with grief, his brother was still acting mostly rational (for Sherlock anyways.) Maybe his younger brother was right, and through some miracle of fate, John Watson had survived the fall.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Sherlock**

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**2½ months earlier...**

A very annoyed Sherlock Holmes paced the living area of 221B Baker Street, holding a deer stalker and very audibly complaining about the 'gift' from Scotland Yard. "Why is it always the hat photograph? What type of hat is it anyway? Is it a cap? Why's it got two fronts?"

"Its a deer stalker," replied an equally annoyed John Watson.

"Stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do, throw it?" mocked Sherlock, steadfastly ignoring John as he pursued the newspaper to see what else it said about him. "Is it some kind of death frisbee?" Sherlock said holding the hat like it was indeed a frisbee. Sherlock continued to inspect the hated hat.

"Its got flaps. Ear flaps, it's an ear hat John!" he whined, flinging the headgear in question towards John, utterly disgusted.

Catching the hat, John said, "Okay, this has gone too far. We need to be more careful."

"What do you mean, 'more careful'?" Sherlock replied, sitting down in his chair and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers.

"I mean that this," he answered, holding up the despicable death frisbee, "isn't a deer stalker now, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. Sherlock, you're this far from famous." John held his fingers around a centimeter apart to demonstrate.

"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock said flatly.

"It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock, they always do. And they'll turn on you." "It really bothers you." Sherlock noted aloud, turning curiously toward John.

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes."

"About me. I don't understand. Why would it upset you?"

John was silent for a moment before blandly stating, "Just find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news."

Not completely satisfied with his answer Sherlock returned into his previous position with his fingers under his chin.

(•)

John burst in through the door. After everything that'd happened recently, Moriarty would have surely come here to gloat.

"Where is he?"

Sherlock looked up. "Who? Oh. Moriarty. He came by a while ago"

"And..?"

"We had some tea, and then he left." Sherlock said, as if it were a daily occurrence to have tea with a psychopathic criminal

"What were you thinking? Your worst enemy comes to the flat and you have a cup of tea with him!?" John practically shouted, "Last time you met, he tried to blow us up!"

"Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine." Sherlock spat, slightly annoyed.

"This is going to far. Someone is going to end up hurt. I've made up my mind. You are going on a vacation."

"What?" Sherlock said briefly sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. "You need to get away from the press anyway." John replied, turning his eyes towards his phone.

"I'm fine." Sherlock repeated, becoming more than a little annoyed, as John shot off a text to Mycroft.

"Sorry. Looks like your brother and I are in agreement for once. Sherlock Holmes, we are going to get you out of London." There was a five minute stare down between the two, until Sherlock finally spoke.

"I'm not leaving," he stated defiantly.

"Now, now, brother dearest. Don't make me order you," piped up Mycroft, who had silently been standing in the doorway for the past two minutes.

John practically jumped out of his skin as he turned around to stare at the dignified man (who seemed to have appeared from nowhere), as Sherlock stomped off to his bedroom.

"Where did you come from!?" John rounded on the man, utterly bewildered.

"Don't underestimate me, Doctor Watson. I knew my little brother would not go willingly."

"What are you going to do about it? He won't even listen to you!" John sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, but I know someone he will listen to," Mycroft smirked as he strolled out the door, "Expect a visitor sometime tomorrow afternoon. Take care, dear doctor."

The door shut, leaving John to ponder who in heaven or earth Sherlock Holmes would listen to (though he sort of suspected that, whoever it was, they were from neither), and if he should be worried.

Sherlock did not leave his room the rest of the day, not even to eat (although that was about par for Sherlock), leaving John to wonder if he had heard the conversation between himself and Mycroft. It was fairly likely that he had, and, being Sherlock, knew exactly who their visitor would be. And whoever it was, he was not happy about it. When Sherlock finally did come out of his bedroom, it was out of sheer boredom, which was most definitely not a good sign.

"Finally decided to rejoin the world of the living, did you?" John said, looking up from the book he had been reading.

Sherlock did not reply, flopping himself down onto the sofa. "I assume you heard Mycroft, then?" Once again, Sherlock failed to respond. He didn't even acknowledge that the question had been asked. Typical Sherlock.

"Who is this visitor we will be receiving?" "Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock said, finally turning to face John.

"No, not really," snapped John, somewhat annoyed at how cryptic his flatmate was being.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but once again said nothing. Figuring he would not get anything else out of him, John headed off to bed.

After John had disappeared up the stairs, Sherlock sighed and stalked over toward his violin. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

(•)

Sometime around noon the next day, John returned home from the store to find Sherlock pacing the living area, his billowing coat swishing back and forth as he turned around.

"What are you doing?" asked John, as he set the groceries down on the table.

Sherlock didn't respond. This was getting annoying. John was about to tell him off for not giving him an answer when the doorbell rang.

Sherlock sighed and muttered to himself as he went to get the door.

"Great. She's here."

She? John wondered. And why was Sherlock getting the door? He never answered the door.

There was muffled conversation in the hallway, followed by some shouting. The door violently swung open, and Sherlock burst through the door, followed by an older woman. She was fairly tall, and had grey hair that obviously once been black. Her eyes were cold and calculating, just like Sherlock's... oh. Oh no. Finally, John Watson had realized the obvious. He was looking at Sherlock's mother!

Sherlock turned around and faced her. "I'm not leaving!" he shouted.

"Yes you are. If Mycroft thinks its important enough to drag me all the way down here, than you are going on a holiday!" his mum said firmly. As she scanned the room, she finally seemed to notice John standing open-mouthed in the kitchen. "And who is this?"

"This is my colleague, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock stated flatly. Ignoring John as if she had never heard Sherlock answer, Mrs. Holmes continued in her tirade.

"I already have everything set. You leave tomorrow morning at nine sharp." With that, she strutted out of the flat. As the door slammed shut, Sherlock marched off into his room. Again. And once again, John turned to find that Mycroft had silently appeared in the doorway.

"I'm having a serious case of déjà vu." John muttered, under his breath. "What now?" he asked Mycroft.

"Now, he has no choice." Mycroft smirked. "Oh, and by the way, you _will_ be going with him. I need someone to ensure he doesn't sneak off back to London."

Mycroft sauntered off, leaving John to wonder just what he had gotten himself into.

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**A/N: When I will update depends on the feedback I get on these first two chapters. Review and tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, Here's Chapter 2. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, it wouldn't be nearly as great as it is now.**

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The next morning, an observant passerby would notice a very grumpy Sherlock Holmes, alongside a slightly anxious (and very exasperated) John Watson standing on the corner of Baker Street and Park Road. Both men had suitcases in their hands as they waited for their cab to arrive.

Just as Mrs. Holmes had said, at exactly nine a cab pulled up to take them to their destination. John still had no idea where they were going, but he figured Sherlock knew. Still, John put off asking until they were out of the cab and walking toward one of the boats in the shipyard.

"So where do you figure they're sending us?" he finally asked.

Sherlock lifted his eyes. John was beginning to get seriously ticked off with him.

"Switzerland." Sherlock said, as if it were obvious.

"Okay. And how do you know?" John prompted, prepared for a very long explanation.

"Do you honestly think I'd let them force me to go on a holiday without knowing where I was going first?" Sherlock said, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

"No, I suppose not." John said. It made sense. Sherlock didn't want to leave in the first place, so of course he would have demanded to know exactly where he was going.

A boat ride and a rental car (driver included) later they finally arrived in the city of Meiringen.

It had been arranged (by Mrs. Holmes, of course) that they were to stay in the Alpin Sherpa Hotel. Their rooms were next to each other, numbers 10 and 12. The walls were thin enough for you to hear through them, and given Sherlock's current state of agitation (and his tendency play his violin all night when in such a state of distress), John had a feeling that he was not going to get much sleep that night. Not that he got much normally, considering that he had Sherlock Holmes for a flatmate.

The front desk had given them both a list of tourist attractions. Being himself, Sherlock threw his away at the first waste bin they came across, which happened to be right next to the front desk. John had kept his, and was now looking for things to keep Sherlock from blowing up the hotel with one of his experiments.

None of them sounded promising. John tossed the list onto the desk in the room for later inspection. The room itself was nice, it could even be considered a suite, it was split up into four smaller rooms including a kitchen, living area, bathroom, and bedroom. He could only assume Sherlock's looked the same.

They'd been at the hotel for no more than an hour when John heard a quiet BOOM next door. Sighing, John walked over to Sherlock's room to find that Sherlock had unsurprisingly doing some sort of experiment that had created a very big black scorch mark, which currently adorned one of the previously-white walls. Sherlock too was covered in ash from his miniature explosion.

"What did you do this time?" John asked, more annoyed than angry, "And why did you bring chemicals on a holiday?"

"I knew it would be boring, and I had to be able to at least do something mildly entertaining." Sherlock replied, as he scrubbed ash off his face. Seemingly satisfied, he strode over to the sofa and plopped down onto it.

"Is that what you're going to do all week? Mope around because you aren't in London with a case?" John asked rhetorically.

"That is, unless a case happens to turn up here." Sherlock muttered hopefully (at least, John thought it was hope, and not the utter contempt that usually came from the mouth of a Holmes), as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers together under his chin.

"Well, you'll never know unless you actually go outside." John said, as he left the room.

(•)

The following morning John awoke to yet another mild explosion.

John sighed and trudged out of his room and into Sherlock's.

"What were you doing this time?" John asked, standing in the doorway. As he spoke, he surveyed the many specks of dark blue added to the scorch mark that already decorated the white walls.

"Cooking." Sherlock said, wiping the abundance of blue specks off of his pale face with a towel from the mini kitchen in his room. John, after looking around once again, realized that the blue specks were indeed the blueberry jam that Mrs. Hudson had made them.

"I'm not sure that's considered 'cooking' Sherlock." John said, irritated. "How did you even manage to-."

He was cut off by the pounding footsteps approaching the room. It was no doubt hotel security, having noticed the noise. 'Conveniently', the security office happened to be located a few doors down, (although John personally suspected that a certain couple of Holmes' were involved).

John moved out of the man's way and into the room. He looked more like a secret service agent than a security guard, but then again, Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes had been the ones to set this all up.

"Excuse me sir," the man said in a deep voice, and completely ignoring John's existance, "the hotel expects you to leave the room the way you found it. If it is damaged in any way, we will be sending you the repair bill."

Sherlock ignored the large man, and continued to examine the jam jar that somehow remained in one piece, despite it's contents currently coating the walls.

The man turned and stalked off down the hallway. As John watched him turn the corner, he could have sworn he had seen Mycroft come out to greet the man before they both disappeared from sight.

No need to tell Sherlock about this, John decided. Knowledge of his brother's presence would only put him in an even worse mood.

"Well," John said, turning to face Sherlock, who was still inspecting the jar, "if we're going to clean up this mess, we're going to need some supplies. And you have to come with me so you don't make this room a bigger mess than it already is."

John walked back to his room to get ready for the day. He was showered, dressed and feeling great only 30 minutes later. But when he walked into Sherlock's room he found the detective sitting on the sofa, still in his pyjamas, and holding what could only be described as a sort of sling shot, made out of parts he had found around his room.

He was using the makeshift sling shot to fling grapes across the room onto the once white wall.

"Alright, that's enough of that." John chided, walking over and snatching the sling shot from his hands.

"Go get dressed and meet me in the lobby. Its about time we explore a bit of Meiringen, and in case you didn't hear me before, grab some things to clean this mess up." he said, gesturing toward the walls of the room.

As John walked out the door and into the hall, he could hear Sherlock grumbling as he walked toward the bedroom on the other side of the suite.

Some 15 minutes later, the pair walked out of their hotel and purposefully strode toward some of the shops near their hotel.

Later that day, John remembered why he never takes Sherlock shopping.

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**A/N: Reviews are motivation! The more I get the faster I update!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, I'm trying to update every week. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own_ Sherlock. _If I did, Season 3 would've premiered in the U.S. already. **

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Sherlock was suspiciously quiet during the rest of the walk toward the shops, causing John a bit of anxiety. John had figured he'd be complaining the whole way.

They stopped for a quick breakfast before going to buy the supplies.

It wasn't a very nice place, John had to admit, but it would do for now. John didn't realize how bad it was until they got their food, and Sherlock immediately began deducing it's components.

Needless to say, John subsequently quite lost his appetite, and both men were banned from the restaurant.

From there, John led Sherlock into a cleaning supplies shop to get the things to clean the room.

It took John about 5 minutes to realize Sherlock wasn't next to him. He was fairly certain the bloke had been with him when he'd entered the store, but not until he had concluded his business and was turning to leave did he notice that the consulting detective was mysteriously absent.

"Oh, wonderful," John muttered to himself, "now I have to go and find him before he gets himself arrested."

To his surprise John spotted Sherlock talking to a young man at the customer service counter. The gangly teen looked rather uncomfortable, as though he knew nothing good could come out of the information he was giving.

As John approached, he heard a bit of what the young man had been saying to Sherlock.

"So no, sir, I don't know what would happen if you mixed all of our cleaning products together."

"Interesting." Sherlock replied, opening his mouth to ask yet another odd question when John spoke up.

"Yes thank you, erm... what's your name? John asked the young man.

"David" the boy replied, gesturing towards his name tag.

"Yes, alright thank you for your time, David." John said, as he practically dragged Sherlock out of the store.

"What were you doing? John demanded.

Sherlock shrugged. "Research," he stated simply.

"That does not sound good." John said, mostly to himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't have to do this if I were back in London. Lestrade's bound to have some sort of case, and Moriarty is probably up to something as well."

"In case you've forgotten, Moriarty is the reason we're on holiday in the first place!" John said tensely, nearly shouting.

Sherlock didn't answer, instead turning with a dramatic swish of his coat, and marching back up the trail towards their hotel.

John followed him, but stayed a few feet behind. Sherlock was already cross, no need to anger him further.

When they arrived back at the hotel it appeared that Sherlock had calmed down a bit, but the man's already sour disposition took a turn for the worse as the two entered room 12.

The recently dirty walls were now a spotless white, along with all of the furniture that Sherlock had also ruined in his experiments.

John stared at the room in bewilderment.

"How- " he started to say, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Mycroft." Sherlock said angrily, "I should have known."

A few seconds later, John received a text from Mycroft.

**_You are most welcome. It will be your turn next time, dear doctor._**  
**_-MH_**

_Well isn't this just great_, John thought to himself sarcastically. Sherlock was not happy.

Sherlock stood very still in the middle of the room, obviously annoyed and quite angry.

Just then, a scream echoed through the halls of the hotel. Sherlock perked up instantly. The scream ended quickly, but Sherlock was already following the sound.

"Come on John!" he called. "Something interesting is finally happening!"

John sighed and rolled his eyes before following Sherlock, who was already halfway down the hall.

(•)

John had only just caught up with Sherlock when the detective came to a sudden halt in the doorway of a room that he had no doubt concluded was where the scream had originated.

"This is where that scream came from? " John asked, slightly out of breath, but as oblivious as always.

Sherlock didn't answer, instead putting a gloved hand against the white door and opened it silently.

Lying on the floor of the room there was two women. One was obviously dead, lying in a pool of blood, spreadeagled, her brown eyes staring, sightless, at the ceiling. The victim's long red hair was fanned out across the floor. She had a gag stuffed in her mouth, and her fair skin was covered in cuts and bruises. It looked as though she had been tortured. Her companion, it seemed, was only unconscious.

Sherlock went right to examining the body, while John just stood in the doorway, mouth agape, staring wide-eyed at the grim scene before him.

The detective continued on, though keeping his deductions to himself, oddly enough.

That was a bit unnerving, as Sherlock usually noted things audibly. John decided to ignore it and went to the dead women's companion.

She too had a few bruises, but other than that she seemed perfectly fine. She must have passed out from the shock of seeing the dead woman.

"They're cousins." Sherlock remarked, bringing John out of his musings.

John nodded, and began looking for the resemblance between the two women. The unconscious one had black hair about the same length as her cousin, but they both had the same pale skin and thin face.

"Anything else?" John asked, knowing that the detective must have noticed much more than the fact that the two women were related.

"The victim has been tortured, that much is obvious. They've been at the hotel for about a week, and," Sherlock pulled the woman's wallet out of a purse against the wall, "one of them is visiting from London." He finished before moving away from the victim, allowing John to examine the body.

Used to this bit by now, John knelt next to the dead women.

"She's been dead for a few hours, has some broken ribs and a ...snapped neck?" John said, confused, as he concluded his medical examination. "So we know the cause of death, but who is she, and why would someone want to kill her?"

Sherlock ignored his questions and turned to the still unconscious woman. He knelt down and grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her awake.

"Sherlock!" exclaimed John, "That is _not_ the proper way to wake someone who is obviously in shock! "

Just then, the woman opened her eyes groggily. After a few seconds, however, her bright sapphire irises widened, filled with worry and panic.

"Cara!" she cried, frantically looking about the room, until her eyes fell on the women lying dead on the floor.

She then proceeded to burst into tears.

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**A/N: Until next time! Thanks to all the lovely followers I received on the last chapter! **


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry fro the wait. This was finished later then I would've liked. Without further to do, Chapter 4.**

**Disclaimer: Still DO NOT OWN _Sherlock, _if I did, Moffat would not be allowed to write the last episode of season 3.**

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Sherlock had just stood up and taken a step back from the crying woman when the door to the room burst open.

In walked a tall, well-built man with a very thick red mustache, a bald head and bright brown eyes. He was obviously a police officer of some sort, judging by his uniform.

"What the bloody he-" the man paused, mid sentence, gazing in horror at the dead young women.

"No." He whispered. "No! Not her. He can't have taken her from me too!"

John looked at the man in confusion while Sherlock just nodded his head as if this confirmed something.

The officer than seemed to get his emotions in check. He took a deep breath before turning to Sherlock. "And who are you?" he asked, in a slightly accusing tone.

"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective." Sherlock said flatly. "And I presume officer, that you know exactly who murdered your daughter."

"Is everyone related to her?" John muttered to himself.

Sherlock smirked at John's comment, then turned his attention back to the officer. "Oh don't look so surprised. The resemblance is so obvious that even John could see it," he said in response to the officer's baffled look.

Looking a bit closer John could in fact see the resemblance. They both had the same bright red hair , brown eyes, and long face.

"Wait a minute, _you're_ Sherlock Holmes?" The officer said looking a bit taken aback.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, now back to the woman lying dead on the ground?" he said, obviously getting bored of the officer.

The officer kept looking back and forth between Sherlock and the victim (apparently named 'Cara'), obviously trying to decide what he should tell him.

The officer stood up straighter, trying to look professional, "To answer you question Mr. Holmes, I know who ordered my daughter's death, just not who carried out the deed." The man paused, for the first time wondering if he could trust them, despite what his cousin had said about them.

"Get on with it then." Sherlock said, after a few moments of silence.

"Alright, his name is Moriarty."

"Of course it's Moriarty," said Sherlock not even a little bit surprised. "Who else leaves a smiley face painted on the bathroom mirror?"

There was in fact a white, spray painted smiley face on the mirror. (John was surprised he hadn't noticed it earlier, seeing as it was rather obvious and the bathroom door was open.)

The officer just stood there, looking a bit confused.

"Alright. I need data, and you won't be much help. Any friends of hers in town?"

The officer blinked, but didn't say anything. Then, for the first time since her outburst, the woman who had been crying spoke up. "Her b-boyfriend Bradley lives a f-few blocks a way, I can take you there, i-if you like.

Sherlock nodded and left the room, obviously excited to be working on a case. John, a bit exasperated at the fact that Sherlock had just left, turned to her and said, "That would be wonderful." John held a hand out to help her up. "Erm- what's your name, by the way?"

The women smiled. "I'm Amanda Jones."

"John Watson."

They both turned to leave, when John remembered that the officer was still there, and, as always, he would have to do the talking for Sherlock.

"We'll do what we can Officer-" John paused, realizing he'd never quite gotten his name.

The man smiled at John's awkwardness. "Officer Lestrade. Thank you."

John just stared at him a moment before shaking his head. "You wouldn't happen to be related to a Greg Lestrade, would you?"

"He's my cousin."

"Of course he is." John muttered, before running off to find Sherlock.

(•)

By the time John and Amanda finally caught up to Sherlock, they were all in the front of the hotel. Sherlock had obviously been waiting for them there, as he was pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"Bradley lives over this way," stated Amanda, looking warily at Sherlock. John only found this wary look slightly concerning as Sherlock was rather odd.

Sherlock looked up bit didn't say anything. John realized Sherlock was in 'I'm-putting-the-pieces-I-have-together mode' and sighed. Again he would have to do the talking.

"Lead the way then," he said, turning to Amanda.

A rather lot of walking and turning later, the threesome ended up in front of flat number 14 Mongolia Crescent.

Amanda walked up and rang the doorbell. A few seconds, later a young man of about 20 answered the door. The man wore a jeans and a grey hoodie, the hood pulled over his tangled raven hair.

"Hey Amanda. What's up?" The man said, not yet noticing Sherlock and John.

"Hey Colin. Is Bradley in? It's rather important. "

"Yeah, he just got back from class. I'll go get him."

Colin disappeared behind the slightly ajar door for a few seconds, then reappeared, having realized that there were other people behind Amanda.

"You guys can come in if you want?" he said rather awkwardly as he opened the door.

John looked at Sherlock before nodding.

Amanda led the way into the flat as Colin ran up the stairs to the second floor.

She led them into a sitting room similar to theirs back in Bakers Street, except instead of random science materials scattered about there were an assortment of books and DVDs.

Amanda and John took the couch while Sherlock waited impatiently in the chair.

They all sat in a rather awkward silence for a while before John spoke up. "So, who was that?" John said, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock didn't even seem to notice John had spoken as he continued to drum on the arm of the chair with his fingers. So Amanda replied instead.

"That was Bradley's flat mate, Colin. They've known each other for years."

Just as she said that Colin reappeared with a blonde man who must have been Bradley.

"Hey Amanda, who's this?" queried Bradley as he and Colin stood in front of the group.

"This is John Watson and Sherlock Holmes; they have a few questions for you," replied Amanda quietly, seeming to still be in a bit of shock.

"Okay then, ask away."

Sherlock still seemed to be deep in thought. So yet again, John had to do the talking.

"When was the last time you saw Cara?" (John had decided not to outright say, 'Oh, by the way you girlfriend is dead,' which is undoubtedly what Sherlock would have said)

Bradley looked at Colin a moment before turning to John. "When I dropped her off after our date at the Lammi."

At the mention of this 'Lammi', Colin's face scrunched up in disgust. Bradley rolled his eyes, "Don't mind him, he's a vegetarian. Why do you want to know?"

John, still a bit confused, opened his mouth to respond, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Your girlfriend was found dead this afternoon," he stated matter-of-factly. "And you haven't seen or heard from her all day, yes?"

Bradley, for his part looked stunned and just nodded mutely.

"Hmmmm, interesting..." muttered Sherlock, as he looked off into space putting this information into his 'mind palace'

John sighed, realizing Sherlock wouldn't be asking any more questions, and was likely analyzing anything and everything in the flat.

"Do you know anyone who would've done this? Any enemies, rivals, something like that?"

Bradley just shook his head again, blinking rapidly, obviously trying to keep from crying. Colin took his friend by the shoulders and led him into the kitchen, but not before he shot Amanda a suspicious glance.

John raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing; Sherlock was still staring off into space.

Colin came back in leaving Bradley in the kitchen. "Any other information we can give you?"

"No, I think that'll be all. Thank you." John said, glancing at the detective making for the door.

"Anything I can do to help, let me know." Colin said leading them to the front door. "Cara was a good friend."

John nodded as he and Amanda walked out. (Sherlock was already halfway down the street)

"I better go tell her mother then." Amanda said sadly. "I could maybe give you some more information about her, later tonight over dinner maybe?" she asked, with slightly pleading eyes.

John blinked, and said "Sure, why not? 5:30?

"Perfect. Meet you in the front of the hotel," she said, turning and walking away.

"Well, she definitely recovered from the death of her cousin quickly," he murmured to himself as he walked back to the hotel, but quickly put the thought out of his mind as he realized he had no idea where Sherlock was. "Oh well."

Little did he know, Amanda was walking away with a triumphant smirk on her face. Everything going according to plan.

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**A/N: Evil!Smirk! is evil. Ah how I enjoyed writing this chapter. Thanks to all the lovely followers I received! You guys rock!**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I actually really like this chapter (even if it is a bit short) **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock, never have and (sadly) never will.**

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When John finally made it back to the hotel, he didn't even bother checking Sherlock's room. He was most likely getting information and, without John there to act as a moral compass of sorts, generally being rude about it.

Having nothing better to do, John picked up the list of tourist attractions the front desk had given him. He was already too late to keep Sherlock out of trouble, but he would likely solve the case within a few days and John had no clue how long this 'vacation' would last. There were a few restaurants and museums, but if one does not wish to pay for broken artifacts or add another location to their "banishment" list, you do not take Sherlock Holmes to either of those. Than again, if you want to stay out of trouble, you normally don't take Sherlock anywhere.

There was however, a waterfall that might keep them occupied enough for a few hours should John get desperate.

Throwing the list back on the desk, John was about to get up and retrieve a book from his suitcase when he heard the door to Sherlock's room slam open.

Sighing, he got up to go see what information the detective had gleaned from his search.

John walked into the room to find Sherlock searching through his suitcase rather frantically. "What are you looking for?"

"A police badge." Sherlock replied curtly.

"A police badge? Oh you mean like the ones you steal from Lestrade. Why would you bring one of those?"

Sherlock ignored him, and continued searching until he triumphantly held out one of his pickpocketed badges.

"Find anything noteworthy on the victim?" John asked whilst Sherlock inspected Lestrade's badge.

"She worked at the Riechenbach Falls Tourist Office, was the eldest of three, her mother died a year ago under mysterious and was a "well liked member of the community"" He said, having concluded that the badge was not a fake Lestrade had planted,  
Sherlock then walked toward the door calling out, "Come along John! The game is on!"

"Um, no"

Sherlock (who was already out the door) turned around, "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I have a date with Amanda."

"Who?"

"The victim's cousin."

Sherlock blinked. "Why must you always have these, things while something interesting is happening?"

John shrugged. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He said, than stalked dramatically out the door.

"What are you, a teenage girl?" John asked to the empty room.

Sighing, he walked back into his room and looked at the clock. It was only 4:40, might as well read a book while Sherlock was away, there was almost no opportunity to when Sherlock is on the case.

(•)

Sherlock walked swiftly down the cobblestone path, his coat swishing behind him.

Of course she worked at the Riechenbach Falls, the case that made his name. He smirked. Oh how Moriarty loved irony, and of course he would take the opportunity. His foolish brother thought getting him out of London would fix everything, ha! If anything it just made him more persistent. Moriarty was obsessed. He wouldn't stop until he solved this 'final problem'. And naturally if he wanted Sherlock Holmes' attention -what better way than killing someone? Naturally.

Sherlock walked up to the main road, where he than called a cab. As soon as the driver spoke he knew this was no ordinary cab, it was one of Mycroft's people.

"Where to?" Said a familiar, poorly disguised female voice.

Sherlock sighed. "You do realize I know its you Katherine. Disguising your vioce was never your forte."

The cabbie sighed. "Well at least I tried. Your brother should've known better than to send me anyway."

"I assume he wants to know where I'll be going?" Sherlock sighed "Well he's bound to find out anyway what with his _and_ mother's people tracking me." He said bitterly. "Take me to the Riechenbach Tourist Office."

Kathrine nodded and maneuvered the "borrowed" cab into traffic.

(•)

John looked at his watch he had been waiting in the lobby for the past five minutes, waiting for Amanda to arrive. He was still a bit confused about just what this "date" entailed. Was he supposed to take her somewhere? Or did she already have everything planned out?

He was just about to go outside and check when she walked in, her black hair all done up in a bun, she wore a simple purple blouse and jeans, the dark color contrasting to her pale skin.

"Ready to go?" She asked in a timid vioce.

"Uh, yeah. Where are we going exactly?"

"Just to a restaurant a couple streets down. We can walk." She stated, and then added as an afterthought, "If that's ok with you I mean."

"That's fine," John said. He still didn't know the city very well and walking to the restaurant would help a bit with that.

They left the hotel and started walking down the street in an awkward silence. John actually recognized these streets, as they had walked them earlier on the way to Bradley and Colin's flat.

The sun was low against the mountain causing the sky to turn a pinkish orange hue. After a few minutes John spoke up. "Nice sunset, is it always like this?"

Amanda nodded. "Yeah, you should see it in the summer"

The pair fell back into the awkward silence that they had held previously.

John looked down the street, only to notice a small black truck moving slowly along the road, if that wasnt suspicious enough, it seemed to be following them.

He nudged Amanda, "Hey, is it just me or is that car following us?"

If John hadn't been focused on the car he would've heard Amanda curse quietly.

"I know a way we can try to lose them. Follow me." Amanda grabbed his hand and ran down the street only to turn a corner abruptly.

They stood in an alleyway hidden in between some buildings. After looking around, John looked back onto the street again. No sign of the car, they must have lost them. John was about to turn around to ask if Amanda had any idea who they were, when something hard connected with the back of his head, and everything went black.

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**A/N: _Things_ are happening, And I get to play around with my characters more. xD**

** Leave a review and get a free virtual scarf! (blue of course) **


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: I am really enjoying writing these next few chapters. Thanks to all those who have faved/followed the story so far! **

**Disclaimer: Shockingly, I still don't own Sherlock (SEASON THREE WAS ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC THO)**

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As John fell to the ground, Amanda pulled out her cell phone. After pressing a few buttons, she put it up to her ear. "Sebby, bring the car to the alleyway. And next time? Ask boss for a less conspicuous look. He was onto you."

After hanging up, she stepped back and admired her handiwork. The army needed to step up its game. If this, a bag with a hardcover book in it, was all it took to knock out a soldier, (albeit a retired one) Britain was doomed.

The car pulled up and a muscular man with short blonde hair, broad shoulders walked out. A pair of pitch black sunglasses covered his eyes, and he looked for the entire world like a body guard or secret service agent. He glanced at John and then smirked. "Nice job kid. Do that with your bag?"

"Used to be in the army? Please, he didn't suspect a thing." She answered before walking up to the car. "Put him in the back. He shouldn't wake for at least 45 minutes, but tie him and gag him anyway."

"And why don't you just take him to the boss now?" the tall man asked, as he bound John with materials from the car.

"Because I'm hungry, and you missed my birthday last year." Amanda said, pretending to be hurt. "You owe me."

Her accomplice smirked. "Alright kid, as long as we still have him for the boss when we get back."

"Excellent. There's a place I already have reservations to, and it's literally down the road." She laughed, and they took off down the street.

(•)

Colin walked down the worn cobblestone path toward the flat, his hands in his pockets and headphones in, trying desperately not to think about the events of the day. But try as he might, his thoughts kept drifting back to Cara. _Dead_. It was hard to believe she was gone, what with having seen her just the day before. Colin had kept his cool until after Amanda and those two men had left, but the second they were out of sight, he had sat down with his back to door, staring into the hall, trying to ignore the sobs coming from the kitchen. A while after the sobs had subsided; he got up and went into the kitchen to find Bradley silently making tea whilst staring blankly at the wall. Deciding to give his friend space he had called Cara's father to see where the body was located. After rushing to the hotel room, they had burst in to see Officer Lestrade kneeling by his daughter, stroking her bright red hair as tears fell down his face. Bradley went up to join him, as Colin turned away to call the police and inform them that they needed to take the body to the morgue.

After they had taken Cara's lifeless form away, he had left Bradley and Cara's father alone to reminisce all of their happy times with her. As his headphones blasted away, Colin couldn't help but feel as if Mr. Lestrade had enough heartache for a lifetime. Nearly all his family was now dead, poor bloke, both his wife and child taken away from him by the same twisted psycho.

He was so caught up in his musing that when he first glanced at the idle car with no driver he walked right past it. But only a few steps later he paused, slowly turning around to face the car.

He peeked through the tinted side windows, and, seeing no one in the car, pulled out his cellphone to call a tow truck or something when he noticed something fogging up one of the side windows.

Shading the rear window with his hand, he looked through the tinted glass, not knowing what to expect as the fog steadily moved up and down as if breathing. Finally able to catch a glimpse of the contents of the black car, what Colin saw made him back up in surprise.

He had been expecting a sleeping dog leaning against the window or something of the sort. But what he saw was a person, tied, gagged, and unconscious in the back of a car.

If that wasn't suspicious, he didn't know what was.

If he hadn't been so caught up in this new realization, Colin might have noticed the click of heels approaching the car. As it was, all he noticed was Amanda and a very large man appear in the window, directly behind him. His eyes widened in recognition and he was about to turn around before the large man pulled out a tranquilizer dart and swiftly put it into Colin's neck.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was Amanda's accomplice looking at her expectantly.

(•)

Amanda sighed, frustrated with this turn of events. While they'd been out, that idiot friend of Bradley's had noticed their idle car. She cursed Sebby for leaving it just sitting there. Someone was bound to notice, and it was just her luck that it had been that nosy twit Colin.

"What do we do with him now? Kill him?" the large man asked, pulling a dagger from his boot.

Amanda contemplated this for a moment. "No. Too much of a mess. Put him in the back with John. We obviously can't let him go free."

The man nodded, lifting Colin in the same manner he had John. He tied the raven-haired man up, but decided against a gag. The dart would knock him out until they got to the warehouse where Moriarty was staying.

After everything was situated, the pair got in the car, Amanda in the passenger seat and Sebby driving.

"You know, this wouldn't have happened if-"

"Shut it." Amanda said, cutting him off. She had her arms crossed and was staring moodily out the window.

The man chuckled, "Whatever you say, doll."

(•)

Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, his mind running through all the facts and details he had collected throughout the day. The victim was not all that important. Just a normal, boring, girl, barely out of college. There were thousands of those all over the world. She must have noticed or discovered something that had caused Moriarty to take action and kill her. None of the people he had talked with knew anything, and her cousin was a liar, likely not going to give any reliable information.

Why kill her? What had she seen that had caused the consulting criminal to lash out at her?

He needed data, and people weren't being much of help. Not that they usually were. The last place she had been before her date with whatever-his-name-was,was her place of work, The Reichenbach Tourist Office. She must've seen something there, or Moriarty would've disposed of her earlier.

As Sherlock exited the cab, he looked around the parking lot. It should've been empty. He knew for certain the building was closed (he had made sure of that, made things much simpler), but there was a black car near the back. A car that had Moriarty's people written all over it.

He approached the car, looking through the tinted windows. They really needed to get a less suspicious looking car. It seemed relatively empty, a few long black hairs in the passenger seat indicating one of them was a woman, maybe of the age of about 22. Moving nearer to the driver's seat to get more clues about her accomplice, Sherlock noticed the boot print on the pedal, too big to be a woman's. A man then, about 50 years, judging by the boots older style and the amount of pressure put on the pedal.

Sherlock looked up, his eyes widening. He turned on his heel and ran into the building.

This case was going to be a lot more interesting than he had estimated.

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**A/N:Ooh, Sherlock what do you know about the mystery man? To my surprise, writing evil!Amanda is actually really fun. **

**PLEASE review! Or Anderson's conspiracy beard and John's mustache will find their way onto your face. But seriously I want to know what you guys think! **


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! My 'editor' was slightly distracted by the Dave Green tag on Tumbr. (NERDFIGHTERS FTW)**

**I kind of need season 4. Like, right now.**

***Insert standard _I __Don't Own Sherlock _Disclaimer here***

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When John finally woke , he almost immediately wished he hadn't. It felt as though someone had decided to use his skull as a punching bag. He tried in vain to get his bearings, but everything was a bit blurred, and he was pretty sure that the world was not supposed to be spinning. Giving up on figuring out where he was, John gave himself a personal medical evaluation,.The painful sensation of ropes digging into his arms and the telltale signs of a concussion all pointed to one thing; he had gotten himself kidnapped.

Again.

He really had to stop doing that. This was twice now that he'd been abducted on a date, adding to a grand total of 3 kidnappings since he'd met Sherlock Holmes. (Excluding, of course, Mycroft's lovely little chats).

The last time this particular circumstance had come his way, his date had been dragged along with him. He hoped that wasn't the case this time. The poor girl had just found her cousin dead in her hotel room; there was definitely no need for any more traumatic experiences today.

Opening his eyes again, John was happy to find that the world had stopped spinning. Looking around to see if Amanda had been dragged into this mess with him, John found that he was in a warehouse of sorts, giant walls of crates stacked around him. As he continued to scan the area, he noticed that he was indeed with somebody, but that somebody was not Amanda.

On the other side of their crate-prison-thing was that flatmate of Bradley's, Colin. What was he doing here? Had his brief interaction with Sherlock somehow warranted being kidnapped by a psychopath? The young man seemed to be unconscious, but it was hard to tell from this distance.

Deciding not to just sit around and wait for their captors to return, John started to slowly make his way towards his fellow hostage. This was no easy task, what with his hands behind his back, his arms tied to his sides, and his legs refusing to cooperate. By the time he finally managed to scoot his way over, he was exhausted. Whatever drug they had given him must still be in his system.

Great.

He nudged Colin with his foot, but the younger man gave no response. Resting his head on his knees and breathing deeply, John glanced at his companion; the young man was tied in a similar way to John, only they had used an older rope. They must not have planned on taking him, and tied him up with ropes found in the warehouse rather then the ones they had brought for John. He nudged him again. This time it got a reaction. Colin blinked owlishly, waking in much the same way as John.

After allowing him to get his bearings, John asked, "How'd you end up in this mess?"

Colin shrugged. "Bit too curious for my own good, I s'pose. I saw the car just sitting on the street and took a look to see if anyone was in it. I'd just spotted what must've been you in the back,when, just my luck, Amanda decided to return."

"Wait. Amanda kidnapped us?"

"Well, unless she has some secret evil twin I don't know about. I saw her come up behind me with some older bloke."

John sighed. Of course his date was involved with Moriarty. He could see Sherlock mocking him now. How had he been so oblivious to her motives? She'd known him for an afternoon, asked him out, and recovered from the death of her cousin ridiculously quick. How in the world had he not found this the least bit suspicious? He has Sherlock bleeding Holmes as a flatmate, for heaven's sake!

"Any idea how we're going to get out of here?" Colin asked, breaking John's thoughtful silence.

"Well, we could wait around for Moriarty to dramatically reveal his plan to kill us."

"Or...?"

"Or," John said, managing to get to his knees despite his legs current state of uselessness, "we could somehow find our way out of this maze of boxes and make our dashing escape."

"I like the second option a bit better," Colin said, as he too clambered to his knees.

"Can you walk on your knees?" John questioned, looking about for the simplest exit.

"Just about as good as anyone else can, I guess?"

"Good. Let's go."

The pair started to inch slowly towards one of the four passageways through the literal maze of boxes, their drugged bodies protesting already. It was a tedious and overall embarrassing process, slowly moving their knees against the hard concrete floor. By the time they had made it from where they had been tossed to the beginning of the passage they had figured would lead them out, both men were breathing heavily.

"Ready to get out of here?" John asked between breaths. This was going to take a while.

Colin nodded and they were just about to set off again when a familiar sing-song voice called out, "Where do you two think you're going?"

John cursed. He knew that plan was never going to work, but he had to do something. He turned to face the voice.

"Moriarty."

(•)

Sherlock crept through the empty building, careful to avoid cameras and alarms, he made his way toward the little room they called an office where Cara worked. The room itself was barely big enough to be considered a room, the desk taking up most of the room, and a chair squeezed behind it. The desk had a few papers, a landline and a laptop on it. After looking a bit closer, Sherlock spotted the corner of a yellow paper stinking out from underneath the laptop. Upon pulling it out, he found it to be a sticky note with a scrawled message written on it. The message read:

Cara,  
Before you leave, lock up the warehouse out back. There have been a few reports of loud noises coming from it. It's probably just some terns, but lock it anyway.  
~Tony

Tony was obviously an employee of higher rank, but why would a tourism building have a warehouse? It was undoubtedly where Moriarty was staying but why did it exist in the first place?

Storing these questions for further investigation Sherlock headed to the back door, careful to lock it when he exited. Once outside, it would be rather hard not to notice the fairly large warehouse that was almost bigger than the building itself.

Moriarty was most definitely in there, and this was undoubtedly all a trap.

Sherlock smirked and walked in.

(•)

"Hullo John. Did you miss me?" Moriarty said, his voice becoming higher halfway through, adding eerie false cheer to his voice.

John opened his mouth to respond but Moriarty cut him off, "Ah, ah, ah." He said shaking his finger as if he were telling off a naughty child, "Behave yourself until Sherly-wurly shows up. We wouldn't want anything to happen to your little friend here, now would we?"

Several red dots suddenly appeared over Colin's chest. Snipers. Hadn't they already done this one? Where was the elaborate scheme?

"I know what you're thinking." Moriarty dawdled, "Snipers? Again? But this time," the consulting criminal smiled that creepy smile of his, "there's a twist."

Before he could continue, the sound of a door closing echoed through the quiet warehouse.

Moriarty put his hand together, smile becoming even wider and creepier, "That would be our dear Consulting Detective, right on time."

(•)

A literal maze of boxes is what greeted Sherlock as he walked into Moriarty's cliché little hide out. Wooden crates (too heavy to move; he didn't have time to figure out what was in them) were stacked up 10 feet high, creating a one way path into the maze.

As Sherlock made his way through the maze he couldn't help but think of what sort of leverage Moriarty would have this time around. He always had to have some sort of insurance that the Consulting Detective would cooperate. Within a matter of minutes Sherlock was approaching the center of the maze, just a few more turns and he'd be there (please, it was more likely made for dramatic effect than difficulty), where, of course, the ever-dramatic Consulting Criminal would be.

As Sherlock turned the corner, the scene that greeted him was not the one he had been expecting.

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**A/N: Reviews are wonderful! They would make my day! **


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